


Cold Mac 'N Cheese

by Im_Stupidm



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28827168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_Stupidm/pseuds/Im_Stupidm
Summary: I need mental help immediately





	Cold Mac 'N Cheese

Cold air from the vent above wafts past my nose, covering my face in the chill and waking me up from my peaceful slumber. I lay in bed, mind barely working and toes freezing, working to keep my eyes closed, not wanting to wake up. The task, unfortunately, proves impossible as my wretched orbs of sight remain open.

I growl at the vent placed directly above my bed because no one is there and I can growl at inanimate objects if I want to do that. I sit up slowly, rubbing my face longer than is probably needed and stretching my limbs more sensually than is probably needed. I remain there for an untold amount of time, willing my brain to work. The first thought this terrible blob of meat produces is about how hungry I am. Indeed, just as the thought appears, my stomach growls, proving the point.

I sigh rather forcefully, and my limbs lurch to life, pulling me away from the warm comfort of my bed. I think of it wistfully as I travel to the kitchen. I survey my options carefully. The Pop-Tarts and cereal ran out 3 days ago. Money's been tight recently so I haven't gone shopping in a while. I realize with disappointment that there's nothing to eat. As I prepare to make the trek back to my room, my eye catches on a small black pot on the stove. I carry myself towards it and peer in. Cold mac 'n cheese, just as I thought. I stare at it, treasonous thoughts pulsing through my tired head. 

I slowly bring my hand up to the pot, trembling slightly. I shouldn't do this, the one reasonable part of my mind whispers violently, it's from last night, it's cold, it's congealed by now and that's just nasty. This part is distant and cold, however, easily silenced by a much larger part of my mind, which has long ago lost all respect for itself. Do it, it whispers, no one will know. This is between you and the cheese. 

Resolve steeled, I watch indifferently, coldly, even, as my hand reaches into the pot and scrapes out a handful of mac 'n cheese. I look at it, a vague sense of sorrow and disgust settling over my mind, and press the mass to my face. I chew and swallow. It's cold and congealed. It tastes like how getting the edge of your sleeve wet feels. I want to cry. I reach in again, not even looking at it as I fill my mouth with the substance yet again. I reach in again and again, not even registering the flavor anymore. My lips brush against the meat of my palm and all of a sudden I am met with the image of a horse eating treats out of a young schoolgirl's hand. I shake my head as though it is an Etch-A-Sketch, clearing the thought from my mind as I take another bite.

My mind clears, the pasta the only thought remaining. I continue consuming, the action becoming automatic. I reach in again, and my nails scrape against cold metal. I pause, as thoughtful as a person with no thoughts whatsoever can be, and look again into the pot. It is empty. I have eaten it all. I gaze tiredly at the empty bottom, feeling unbearably disappointed with myself. I go to the sink and turn on the water, not bothering to make it warmer. The cold water sluices over my hand, running in-between the webbing of my fingers and erasing the evidence of what I have done.

I turn around, intending to go back to my room. After what feels like an eon, I make it back and collapse into my mattress, melting into the bed. I pull the blanket around me, covering me almost to my nose. As I close my eyes and attempt to return to sleep, I know my dreams will forever be haunted by my sin.

Fin


End file.
